


Size Does(n't) Matter

by MsThunderFrost



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Is Not Crowley (Supernatural), Established Relationship, First Time, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Insecure Crowley, M/M, Penis Measuring, Penis Size, References to Supernatural (TV), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 02:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19123027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale watch Supernatural, and Crowley is less than amused by the fact that Supernatural!Crowley sold his soul for “a few more inches below the belt”.Aziraphale is pretty sure he’s actually upset at the insinuation that he was, at any point, small.





	Size Does(n't) Matter

“That...That is just insulting. To think that I would ‘sell my soul’, as it were. And for something as insignificant as a larger knob?" He laughed, humorlessly, as he turned off the telly and asked his angel, "How many blokes do they think can realistically claim to be packing a standard sized ruler in their pants, huh? It's just not natural." 

And Aziraphale, who'd lost interest in the show at some point around the time the poor bloke had been killed by a copying machine--creative, yes, but the sheer amount of blood was a bit... _much_ for his tastes, thank you--and currently had his nose buried in a dusty old tome, professed, "Please. You're actually upset that a decidedly  _human_ scriptwriter would dare to insinutate that you were, at any point in time,  _small_." Crowley flinched at the very word.

"Which I'm  _not_." He said, his voice bordering on petulant. He looked at Aziraphale expectantly. Considering the fact that Aziraphale was only half-invested in their conversation, it took him much longer than usual to realize that Crowley was actually expecting him to reply. This did nothing to help the demon's rapidly deflating ego.

"Of course you're not, my dear. In fact, you're quite average. Nothing to be ashamed about, at any rate." He said, turning the page and humming appreciatively at the daring plot twist that unraveled before his eyes. Crowley glared at him, the heat in his gaze going entirely unnoticed by the angel as he continued, "Five inches is quite -,"

"It's bigger than five inches!" Crowley exclaimed, bristling with indignation at the very thought. There was nothing about him that was ‘average’—average was for stuffy angels in three-piece suits with soft, fluffy tummies (he was pretty sure the kids today would say he was “rocking an epic dad bod”) and a total inability to curse, even when his decidedly larger than average whang was buried to the hilt in his favorite demon’s arse. 

Aziraphale sighed, tearing his eyes from his book long enough to meet the demon’s troubled gaze. “If it bothers you so terribly, it would only take a minor miracle to make it longer, as it were. Though I would have to caution against the size of a standard ruler. You might have a wee bit of difficulty stuffing that into those leather trousers you love so dearly.”

”It doesn’t bother me.” Crowley huffed, causing the angel to roll his eyes. “Clearly, it bothers you, since you’re the one suggesting I change.” He said, trying to act like he hadn’t been thinking of trying the exact same thing. Surely, the angel wouldn’t notice if he added a few centimeters on every other day. 

“Yes, of course,” the angel conceded. “And that is why we are currently arguing -,”

” _Discussing_ ,” the demon cut him off rather forcefully. 

Crowley was almost certain he saw Aziraphale roll his eyes at him—the bloody prat, “Fine. Discussing. Loudly. You are definitely not upset about an inconsequential comment made on an American television show and that is why we are discussing the size of your very handsomely sized...privates.” Oh for the love of...now the angel was too good to even say the bloody word?!

”You think I’m small.” And Crowley, a being practically as old as time itself, was whining like a human toddler who’d just been told there’d be no dessert. It was both endearing and maddening at the same time. 

Aziraphale finally put the book down, realizing he would get no more reading done while Crowley was in this state. “I like your size, my dear. If making yourself bigger, or smaller, or whatever, will make you feel better—though I suspect it won’t—then be my guest. But do not work yourself into a tizzy on my account.”

Crowley opened his mouth, about to retort, but all he seemed able to come up with was “A tizzy? Really, angel?”

”Would you prefer I call it a temper tantrum?” Aziraphale shot back. Though there was no malice in his tone, he couldn’t hide his...disappointment that something like this had crawled under Crowley’s skin. 

"I'm not a  _child_ , Aziraphale." He said, sounding very much like a child.

"Could have fooled me." The angel murmured underneath his breath, before taking his and Crowley's cups into the kitchen to fix them each some fresh hot chocolate.

When Crowley was in one of his 'moods', trying to reason with him was like trying to talk to a brick wall. The demon was incredibly thick-headed, and once an idea burrowed its way in there...Aziraphale could have told him that, if he were to decide tomorrow that he rather liked the idea of his manhood protruding from his forehead--he couldn't help but snort at the utterly perposterous thought--the angel would love him just the same. Aziraphale's love for Crowley was not based on the  _physical_ , though it certainly didn't hurt that the demon was easy on the eyes. He loved Crowley because he helped him to see the world beyond the black-and-white, good versus evil drivel that Heaven had been feeding him for years. The size of his manhood didn't change that. 

Crowley shuffled into the kitchen behind him, shoving his hands into his pockets--really, it was any wonder he could fit  _anything_ in there, what with how tight the pants were--and mumbling under his breath about sex-obsessed Americans. Aziraphale wanted to mention that, technically speaking, the Crowley on  _Supernatural_ was Scottish, as portrayed by an English actor, but he had a feeling that that would go over about as well as a lead balloon. He wanted to kiss away the worry lines along Crowley's brow, but he settled instead for shoving the beautifully ornate tea cup into Crowley's unprepared hands. Crowley stared at it as if he'd been handed a cup of poison, and Aziraphale sighed, bringing his own cup to his lips and taking a large swig. 

Yellow eyes stared into the cup for several moments...before he eventually took a long sip. Aziraphale made the best hot chocolate, the recipe perfected over centuries of trial and error. It was the old-reliable of comfort food. The angel steered them toward the kitchen table, coaxing his demon to sit down. As Crowley continued to brood, Aziraphale couldn't help but wonder if he should've taken the opportunity to slip a few fingers of scotch in while the demon wasn't looking. Not to  _trick_ him, certainly not, but more to help him...relax? Yes, that sounded right. An angel certainly wouldn't do something as sinister as  _trick_ someone. But he wanted to make the demon feel better and he was running out of options. Crowley always was a bit... _easier_ to handle with a bit of alcohol in his system...

"I must admit that I am rather at a loss for how to make this better." Aziraphale said as he slipped into the seat across from Crowley.

The demon eyed him cautiously for a moment, before saying, "You could let me top." It sounded rather like he was trying to convince  _himself_ , rather than Aziraphale, of the idea's merit. The angel was looking at him as if he'd suddenly acquired a second head. 

"When you put it like that, it sounds rather like I've been purposefully keeping you from something." He said with a note of indignation, "As I’ve said, I’m more than willing to... _experiment_ in the bedroom. You just...well, frankly, you've never expressed interest in topping before.”

Crowley sipped at his hot chocolate, yellow eyes looking everywhere but Aziraphale’s face. “IwanttoproveIcansatisfyyou.” He said, words coming out in a hurried, unintelligible jumble.

”What was that, my dear? I couldn’t quite understand.” The demon cursed, his yellow gaze tinged with desperation as he stared at the utterly oblivious angel. Aziraphale was smiling at him reassuringly, though from Crowley's side of the table it looked rather menacing. 

The demon sat up a little straighter, swallowing hard to wet the tongue that was suddenly to dry and thick for his mouth. "Let me prove that I can satisfy you." Aziraphale looked adorably flustered, likely wondering how this had transformed into a discussion of whether or not he found their sex life to be particularly satisfying. He had the same flush to his cheeks that he did when...best not to think about that right now. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat once, twice...finally, he averted his gaze and held up a finger. "Firstly, I never claimed to  _not_ be satisfied with our...current arrangement. And while I am more than happy to ‘spice things up’, as they say, I want to make sure that we’re doing it for the right reasons and not just because you’re a bit hot under the collar about some meaningless comment on a program with little more than a cult following.”

Crowley looked desperate. It was such a rare expression for the demon to wear that it could have been mistaken for anger under different circumstances. It was the same look he’d given the angel when Aziraphale had stormed off after slamming the door closed on their ‘discussion’—and really, it was rather generous to refer to it as such—regarding the procurement of the holy water. He needed something from Aziraphale, and despite his most valiant efforts, he’d never been able to deny Crowley anything for very long. He figured that it would probably be for the best if he just conceded before Crowley actually said ‘please’, or some other such nonsense, and the very bowels of Hell froze over. 

“Okay.” He nodded. Crowley’s eyes widened marginally. “How does tonight sound—say nine o’clock?”

”Are we really so busy that we have to schedule sex in advance, angel?” Crowley retorted smartly, but there was a happy twinkle in his eye that wasn’t there before. 

“I suppose not,” the angel said. “But I have things that I must...attend to before hand, that I fear may take some time.”

Crowley’s expression shifted, “You know that you can always say ‘no’ to me, yeah? I might be a demon, but I still understand and appreciate the importance of consent.”

Aziraphale shook his head a bit too quickly, spluttering “Nothing to worry about, my dear. Everyone is fully consenting here. Just...I, um...I have to go now and do...something, yes, so I’ll um...I’ll see you tonight!” He then promptly raced out the door without even bothering to put on a coat, leaving his mug of cocoa to grow cold on the table. 

And Crowley stared at the place his angel had sat for a long while before murmuring, “...Right.”


End file.
